


Spiraling

by lostinwriting23



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau cares so fucking much, I love them okay, If you squint it could be Jester/Beau/Yasha, Multi, Or Fjord/Jester, She just shoves it down and then it bubbles over and bless her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 07:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinwriting23/pseuds/lostinwriting23
Summary: “Mighty Nein!”Beau whips around because Oh gods, oh gods, she knows that voice. That voice has haunted her nightmares and seeped into her dreams but now it’s real, now it’s-“Yasha!”





	Spiraling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks!  
> So I wrote this before all the craziness of the last few episodes happened so...   
> Whatever. Anyway! I think about Beau's reaction to Molly's death A LOT and how that might effect her when Yasha disappears again and then this happened. Also I love Yasha and I want her around so much more.   
> So. Lemme know what you think!  
> I hope it's a lovely weekend for you all!  
> <3,   
> M

Beau loses it a little the next time Yasha disappears again. Even with Jester in the next bed over and Fjord snoring at the other end of the one huge room they’re renting, she has a flashback to waking up that cold morning, dirt scuffs and blood splatter the only thing left of her friends, snatched in the night and taken away from her, from them.

She knows it stormed last night, had woken to Yasha watching from the window across the inn room. Beau had had confusing tears in her eyes, watching the Aasimar back lit in the flashes of lighting, realizing what it all meant but not sure what to do about the anxious pain building in her stomach. Yasha had felt her gaze, turning mismatched eyes on Beau who, embarrassed at the ache in her throat, pressed her face back into the pillows, hoping Yasha wouldn’t notice or would at least let it pass.

            There was silence in the room again and Beau almost thought she’d hidden herself well enough but… no. Eyes still closed, she felt a large, calloused hand, hesitant at first, brushing over the close cropped hair at the sides of her head, hair that Yasha herself had shorn with  a steady hand and magnificent great sword, only days before. There was a low hum as her hand continued, stroking with more delicacy that should have been possible, a discordant lullaby shaping from the notes and in spite of herself, Beau felt herself drift off to sleep at the touch and the song.

            When she wakes, Yasha is gone.

            Everyone else starts to notice instantly that something is off. Beau is always first to offer to take watch, climbin up in the trees, Frumpkin sometimes perched on her shoulder, staff across her lap. She goes hours over the agreed upon time to switch shifts, sometimes staying up through the night on her own. Slowly, she descends into a fog. All that she can imagine is Yasha, bound, unconscious, bleeding, like when they found her, or else screaming like when she saw Molly… the screams she’d bitten back when the Shepherds tortured her, just to piss them off and it almost got her killed.

            Days pass and Beau fights sleep at every turn, walking, not riding the cart, lest the gentle rocking down the road lull her down. She uses watches to keep her friends safe, chase off the dreams. On the few occasions she does succumb, dreams of Yasha, bloody, lost, alone, broken plague her and she wakes violently, in a cold sweat, and the pit in her stomach grows. She counts her friends heads over and over to come back down, stomach knotting weirdly every time there’s only five, every time there’s still no flash of purple, no tattoos, only one tail lashing about. No Molly. _But she’ll come back. She’ll come back._

Caduces doesn’t say anything about it, not explicitly. He’s surprised by Yasha’s disappearance, ever perceptive, drooping eyes catching the way Beau stiffens at the mention. From then on he presses a cup of tea into her hands every morning, usually something sweet and flowery, strong enough the drive the fog back just a bit.

            “Thanks,” She tries to give him a smile to answer the dopy one he gives her. He just pats her shoulder and she’s afraid hers looks more like a snarl. _Shit._

            Nott shares her liquor readily every night, not saying a word, just passing the flask across the fire. She doesn’t even complain when Beau up ends it in her mouth, gulping as much liquid fire as she can handle in one go. It’s a bottomless flask anyway. The two of them needle each other a little more harshly than usual but Nott knows that these barbs are coming from an oddly vulnerable place for Beau. Just for now, she lets it pass.

            Caleb is awkward, as usual. He watches the dark circles on her tan skin get deeper, larger and his worry grows with each passing day as well. This is Beauregard, brash and loud, no-fucks-to-give. She looks almost sick and it hurts him in a way he doesn’t fully grasp.

            “How are you this morning, Beauregard?” He asks every morning, even going so far some days as to pat the top of her head, hand usually just bouncing awkwardly off her top knot.

            “Fucking peachy, Widogast,” or something similar what she growls back every morning, glaring up at him, clutching the mug of tea to her chest, but buoyed weirdly at his attention.

            Fjord does everything in his power to keep everything as normal as possible. He leads the group on, their unintended leader, the group’s (well mostly Jester and Nott’s) impulse control, though Nott is more inclined toward dirty looks than actually heeding his advice these days. He comes to Beau for advice, patient when she falters, lost in the fog until she can find the words to answer him.

            He’s the only one who brings it up, explicitly. They’ve both been drinking pretty heavily, bored after yet another long day on the open road.

            “She’ll be back.”

            “Huh?” Beau lets the rest of her drink burn down her throat then twirls the cup between her fingers, avoiding Fjord’s gaze.

            “Yasha. She’s always found her way ho- back to us.”

            “I know. Why are you telling me this?” She bites out, reaching for the bottle between them and downing a shot straight from it to drown the fear creeping up in her throat.

            Fjord doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and then, realizing she won’t meet his eyes, reaches out to pat her knee. She leaves it for just a second before holding the bottle out to him. They finish the bottle together in silence.

            Jester is bouncier than usual, which might annoy Beau if it were anyone else. But… come on, it’s Jester, Beau finds something endearing in just about everything she does. She sings louder, does that stupid voice that sounds like someone is trapped in her mouth, forces stale pastries and lint covered candy into Beau’s mouth before she has a chance to protest.

            “Beau, come dance with me!”

            “Beau, have I told you what The Traveler showed me the last time we were in Zadash?”

            “Beau, have you SEEN what I taught Sprinkle to do? Look, look he’s standing up!”

            Beau lets herself be dragged and poked and told stories at and somehow, a lot of the time, Jester manages to catch her as she starts to spiral down into darkness and catastrophizing. Jester doesn’t sleep well still but skips through the day to get Beau to smile. It makes her feel weirdly guilty.

            Beau has watched Jester thrash in her sleep, whimpering until Beau can’t take it anymore and she reaches out to hold the tiefling’s hand or run fingers through her sweaty hair until she settles. She’s seen Fjord shoot into wakefulness, biting back a yell, wild eyes shooting from side to side until he can reassert his freedom, searching a glimpse of Jester’s tail or Caleb’s coat or the shock of Duce’s pink hair. She knows the trauma they’ve experienced, has been there for it, for them. And Yasha... she’s alone. No one’s there to hold her hand or stroke her hair or even be seen to remind her that she’s safe and free and _loved_ and Beau doesn’t know how to cope with that.

            A week passes. Beau barely sleeps. She watches the horizon constantly, straining to see a hulking figure coming their way, even just some purple clouds, the faintest glimmer of lightning. But the skies remain stupidly clear, annoyingly blue, no warrior woman walks their way and the itch under Beau’s skin mounts to a nearly unbearable level.

            Another week. Every movement makes Beau dizzy. Her body feels like it’s been dipped in lead, but still, it’s preferable to the horror waiting just under her conscious mind, Yasha’s screams, the desperation in her friends’ eyes, the blood. All her training in the Cobalt Soul may as well have been a child’s book, her ability to marshal, hide, _use_ her fears all but trampled.

 

            “I miss her too.” Jester’s quiet voice nearly startles Beau from her tree perch. It’s late, again, and Beau’s head is swimming.

            “Fuck, Jester, you scared the shit out of me.”

            “I know it’s rough without her here. I feel like a part of us is missing.”

            “Because it is,” Beau growls, blinking hard against the flash of metal in predawn light, a last breath, eyes that never shut, a coat whipping in the wind, Yasha’s scream. She shakes her head to clear it away.

            “I know.” Jester wrings her tail in her hands, firelight gleaming off the pink nightgown she took from her mother’s place when they’d finally docked in Nicodranas, “Can… can you come down? Please?”

            Beau can hear the tremor in Jester’s voice and the stone and ice she’s been trying to bury her heart in cracks a little.

            “I… yeah. Hang on, coming down.” Beau drops her staff into waiting hands and goes to climb down, when her body finally fails.

            Good balance and solid grip strength are no more and suddenly Beau is falling the fifteen feet from her perch to the forest floor below. Pain flashes up her arm with a sickening crunch, an ache blooming in her hip where she hits the ground and the breath rushes from her lungs.

            “Ah, goddammit,” Beau wheezes.

            “Beau,” Jester gasps, dropping to her knees next to the monk.

            “I’m fine,” she grunts automatically, biting back a groan and wincing horribly as she tries to move her arm. _Shit that’s probably broken._ It does seem to be jutting off to a wrong angle.

            “I think your arm is broken,” Jester echoes her thoughts.

            “Maybe. Don’t fuss, it’s fine.”

            Jester doesn’t say a word, just lays her hands on either side of Beau’s face and whispers a healing prayer. Warmth zips from the blue fingers and blazes through Beau’s cheeks down through the pain, leaving only a pleasant tingling sensation behind. The bones of her arm grind for a moment, into realignment. Her arm is mended, her hip no longer smarts but Beau still kind of wants to cry.

            “Thanks, Jessie,” Beau’s voice is gruff and she can’t bring her eyes up to Jester’s as she reclaims her stuff.

            “Beau?” The tremble in Jester’s voice is back and Beau makes the mistake of looking up. A single tear is trickling down Jester’s cheek. _Shit._

“Please come lay down.”

            “I can’t Jester, it’s my turn to watch.”

            “Fjord and Caleb are awake. You can’t keep-”

            “Jester.”

            “No,” Blue fingers catch her chin, halting any movement and forcing blue eyes to purple, “No more ‘I’m not tired,’ or ‘I want to keep watch’ or ‘Hey, let’s get drunk.’ You’re being stupid. You’re just lucky we haven’t had to fight anything, you couldn’t even beat the tree, Beau.” She squeaks, fists propped on her hips.

            “I’m fine.”

            “No, you’re not! You need sleep. And I miss my roommate.” Jester pushes out her bottom lip and looks up at Beau through her eyelashes. _Shit._

“I thought maybe you’d appreciate the chance to maybe get Fjord…” Beau tries to sound suggestive but, for once, Jester doesn’t take the bait.

            “I can do that any time,” She says cockily, waving a hand, “He’s super in love with me, you know. Stop trying to deflect.”

            “I can sleep any time too, you know?”

            “Yeah but you’re not!” Jester glares up at Beau.

            “I’m fi- FUCK!” Beau starts to try one last time but Jester, who’s apparently had enough of this conversation, wraps her arms around Beau’s waist and tosses her over her shoulders to wear her like a scarf, similar to how Caleb carries CatFrumpkin around sometimes.

            “Shit! Jester! Put me down!”  
            “Nope!” the ‘p’ on the end of the word pops and Jester just pats the backs of Beaus legs as she carries the monk through their camp and to one of the tents they’ve set up inside Caleb’s bubble.

            “Jester, I fuckin’ swear-”

            “Boys! Your turn for watch. I’m putting Beau to bed like a little baby. Because she’s acting like a little baby.”

            “Jester!”

            “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,” Jester starts to sing at the top of her lungs, drowning out whatever Beau was going to say next.

            “Good night, Beauregard,” Caleb calls from the fire, listing back and forth slightly with Nott’s flask clutched in his hand. Nott herself is curled up like a cat on the log between Caleb and Fjord, laying half in Caleb’s lap, drooling onto the forest floor. Just behind the log, Caduces lays on his back, head turned toward the log, though whether he’s asleep or talking to the moss growing there is anybody’s guess.

            “Nighty night, ladies,” Fjord hiccups, just as drunk as Caleb. He winks at Jester whose cheeks tinge purple and they duck into the tent.

            “See, if you’d just put me down, you and Fjord could fjuc-” Beau thinks her joke would be much funnier if she could spell it out, adding the ‘y’ sound into both words doesn’t seem to track as well. Or maybe she’s just loopy.

            “Shut uuuuup,” Jester hisses, “How do you know that’s not the plan once you go to sleep?”

            “Ew, Jes, I love you but I so don’t want to see you and Fjord-”

            “Well I had to see you and Keg bone!”

            “We left the bubble for a reason!” Beau shoots back.

            Jester huffs and finally sets Beau on her feet next to the corner the two of them had claimed so long ago. Both of their bedrolls are laid out side by side, shurikens and pastry crumbs scattered around.

            A silence falls between them, a square off over the bedrolls. Jokes aside, Beau just wants to be left alone, not fussed over or taken care of. Her stomach feels heavy again as Jester studies her.

            “Beau,” Her voice is soft as she cocks her head to the side, hair swishing, “I… Why are you doing this?”

            “What?”

            “You won’t sleep. You’re distracted. I know Yasha-”

            Beau flared up out of habit, “I…It’s nothing to do with Yasha, Jester. That’s stupid. I’m fine.”

            “Bullshit, Beau. We talked about this. On the Ball Eater. You’re not the only one who knows. I can tell when you’re lying too. It’s what good liars do, remember?”

            “I’m not-” Beau stops herself at the look from Jester. She didn’t think that the first time she saw Jester truly angry it would be directed at her. A part of her is proud of Jester for actually letting her emotions out, but a bigger part feels even more guilty that it took _this_ , took Beau being an idiot to get her here. Beau’s knees tremble and finally, she lets herself drop to her bedroll, all the fight drawn out of her.  
            “She disappeared again.” Beau feels herself speaking, eyes downcast because she can’t bring herself to look at Jester, can’t do so many kinds of vulnerable all at once.

            “She’s done it before though. And you’ve never ben like this.” Beau is supremely grateful that Jester isn’t smug about being right. She just sinks down slowly next to her and ducks her head to try and see Beau’s face.

            Beau’s back teeth grind together as she fights off the truth. Jester, Fjord, Yasha, they were the ones who’d been kidnapped, tortured, caged. She’d been free, she’d gotten one of their friends _killed_ and here she was, making it about her. What the fuck was her problem? Why was she such a terrible person?

            The world gets a little blurry and Beau tries to breathe deep, blinking hard and embarrassed when one of the tears falls to the blankets below her. Looking to further delay, Beau starts to unbuckle her boots, kicking them off to the side and shucking the fabric belt around her waist which has started to hang a little loosely.

            “Beau?” Jester whispers, reaching out to wrap her fingers around Beau’s.

            “I… This is the first time she’s left since-”

            “She left when we were at Molly’s grave,” Jester murmurs, shuffling closer on her knees and starting to unwind the wraps around Beau’s left arm.

            “No, yeah, I know that but. We just… we saw her leave, watched her walk away. And this time… It’s different, I don’t-” Beau takes a shaking breath and uses her free hand to yank the ribbon from her hair. It cascades over her shoulders, over the short sides, the ghost of Yasha’s fingers over her head too much. Jester takes the ribbon from her and then reaches to undo Beau’s other wraps, waiting until Beau is ready to speak again.

            “This time, it was like all the other times when we woke up and she was… she was just fuckin’ gone. Again. And I know you and Fjord are here and safe and all that but… shit, I just-” Beau chokes then, images of Yasha surrounded, Yasha hurt, Yasha screaming, crying, dead, eyes never shut, just like Molly, sweep through her brain again and she shudders at the tidal wave continues. Jester next, mangled,  a string of blood dripping from her lips, Caleb, charred and broken, all of the Nein, everyone she could fail, everyone she might not be able to save. The air is gone from her lungs and anxiety, the likes of which she hasn’t’ felt since childhood, bubbles up inside her like magma.

            “I just… Shit, Jessie, I know she’s a big girl or whatever, but ever since we lost you guys… we woke up and you were gone,” Beau’s hand comes up on its own to touch Jester’s cheek and Jester abandons her task of tying up Beau’s hand wraps with the hair ribbon and instead leans into Beau’s hand, squeezing her wrist and keeping her eyes steady and Beau continues to tumble further and further out of control.

            “And then Molly- Molly… I,” Beau’s shaking now, “I’m so goddamn scared. All the time. I’ve never had people I was so scared to lose or to lo-” she chokes again because she cannot say that word. Not now. Because obviously she… she loves them. Loves Caleb and Nott and Fjord and Cad and Jester and Yasha _so much_ and had loved Molly _and she can’t protect-_

            “People to love?” Jester finishes for her and Beau curses the perceptive little tiefling.

            “Yeah, I… yeah.” Beau takes her hands back and scrubs them over her face, surprised by how wet it is.

            “That’s what family’s supposed to be though. A real family at least,” Jester is close enough that when Beau drops her hands, she presses their foreheads together.

            “That’s bullshit,” Beau hiccups and Jester giggles.

            “Yeah, I guess it is. And it’s scary. But it’s wonderful too. It makes you stronger too. Gives you something to fight for.”

            “Beating someone’s ass is something to fight for.”

            “Anger can’t fuel you forever, Beau,” Jester sighs, yet again wise beyond her apparent years in a sudden, startling, annoying way.

            “Spite’s gotten me this far,” Beau grunts, not ready to let go just yet.

            “And we’re glad it did but… now you have more. You have us! And aren’t we worth fighting for?” Jester flutters her eyelashes at Beau. Her splash of darker blue freckles is so easy to see from this close and Beau’s stomach hurts at the thought of anything happening to her ever. She can’t look at her, tears welling up again. She nods.

            “And don’t think we don’t feel the same way. It’s hard loving a monk who has to be so close to the monster all the time.” Jester’s voice is softer but she pokes at Beau’s waist and she squirms away, a surprised, wet laugh bubbling up.

            “Sorry,” She hums, letting herself sag back into the bedroll, nudging a throwing star out from under her, and curling herself onto her side.

            “Don’t be. Makes us fight harder.” Jester throws herself down next to Beau and they’re quiet for a while, Jester reaching over after a few minutes to wrap her fingers around Beau’s.

            Then, “You love Yasha different though.”

            _Fuck._ It’s not a question. Beau doesn’t answer.

            “Does she know?” Answering would be an admission either way and she can’t, she can’t, she can’t.

            “It’s okay,” Jester sooths, pulling her knees up to mirror Beau but not releasing her hand, “Just…”

            Beau swallows hard, focusing on a particular constellation of freckles on Jester’s cheek because it’s easier than making eye contact, “Just what?”

            “Don’t wait too long, okay?”

            Beau squeezes Jester’s hand and closes her eyes. She’s asleep before Jester presses a kiss to her forehead.

 

XXX

 

            It’s another six days before she comes back to them. Beau sleeps a little more, shaking herself from nightmares but she’s never alone when it happens. She doesn’t know what Jester did but someone is always there. It’s usually Jester but sometimes there’s Caleb reading a book in a corner or Caduces growing random-ass plants from patch of earth. At first she’s embarrassed but they don’t say much. Jester usually lays down next to her or puts Beau’s head in her lap, Caleb reads aloud to himself and Caduces talks to the plants a little louder. It puts Beau at ease and she repeats Jester’s sentiments like a mantra, _Something to fight for._

            They’ve just left the small town they’d rolled into a few nights before. Caleb’s lamenting the lack of books and Caduces is murmuring low to the horses as he steers them toward the open road. Jester’s singing loudly, Nott downing liquor from her flask, humming along and swaying in time with the beat. Fjord’s eyes go soft as he watches Jester, thinking no one can see, but Beau does and she smiles a little, cocking an eyebrow at Fjord when he notices her noticing. His cheeks flush the color of pine trees and he ducks his head.

            A call from behind them, booming like thunder and the most welcome noise Beau can imagine, halts the party.

            “Mighty Nein!”

            Beau whips around because _Oh gods, oh gods,_ she knows that voice. That voice has haunted her nightmares and seeped into her dreams but now it’s _real,_ now it’s-

            “Yasha!” Jester and Nott shriek together, tumbling out of the cart and sprinting to where Yasha, relatively unharmed and whole is standing just outside the town’s gates. Nott gets there first, wrapping her arms around Yasha’s thighs seconds before Jester flings herself around Yasha’s neck.

            For her part, Yasha catches them both, ruffling Nott’s hair with one hand and then dropping her rucksack to hug Jester back properly with the other. A smile blooms across the pale face and Beau can, honest to gods, feel her heart stop beating, just for a second.

            The boys’ reactions to the reunification of the Nein are muddled, Beau’s brain narrowing only to watching the girls releasing Yasha. Nott immediately offers up the flask, which Yasha takes with a nod. Jester is chattering ninety words a minute already, slinging

Yasha’s bag over her own shoulder. Beau can’t tear her eyes away. Yasha gives the flask back to Nott delicately and then bright, two-toned eyes snap up to hers. Beau’s lungs stop working.

            She’s moving before she realizes it, pushing off from the cart and breaking into a jog toward the other three. Yasha’s gaze doesn’t waver and the takes the next few steps a bit quicker.

            They meet somewhere in the middle. Beau isn’t thinking about anything but the alabaster skin and the dark line down from Yasha’s lower lip because, gods, she’s here, she came back to them. Beau’s arms come up on their own, hooking into the front of Yasha’s mantle where it hang around her shoulders and tugging her closer.

            “Hello Beau,” Yasha’s voice is soft and deep, bathing her in instant calm, a faint smirk on Yasha’s lips.

            Beau doesn’t stop, doesn’t respond. No, all she can hear is Jester’s “Don’t wait too long, okay?”

            Beau slides her fingers down, under the strap that holds Yasha’s great sword to her back and _pulls_. They both know Yasha could resist if she wanted to but she doesn’t. She lets Beau haul her forward and down until they’re the same height. Beau gives her plenty of time to pull back as she leans in, obvious in her intent and _holy fuck is Yasha leaning in too?_

            But that and all other thoughts are wiped from Beau’s mind as their lips meet. For the roughness that is so intrinsically “Yasha”, her lips feel like flower petals. They both stand frozen for a moment, maybe a little surprised at the contact and then one (or both, they really can’t tell) moves, changes the angle and then they’re _kissing_ and it’s like someone has breathed new life into the world. Beau feels herself as whimper just a little as Yasha’s hands find her waist, fingers brushing the strip of skin between her pants and the bottom of her top.  There’s something invigorating, knowing that Yasha reached beneath her robes. Sparks of electricity zip through every point of contact.

            Yasha hums as Beau nips at her bottom lip and maybe Beau’s knees go weak, or Yasha pulls her closer but Beau stumbles, crashing into Yasha’s chest and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The world could be burning and nothing would matter except Yasha’s mouth and her hands and _Oh gods, shes’ here, she’s safe._

Someone’s clearing their throat but they can all kiss Beau’s ass.

           

After an amount of time that Beau can’t gauge and more snickers and throat clearings from their party, Yasha draws back slowly, and that’s enough for Beau. She settles back on her heels and looks up. Yasha’s eyes are fluttering open and maybe there’s something in the sunlight, or the way their chests are heaving against one another, but Beau can’t tear herself away from the purple and teal.

She wants to say something. Something profound or suave or any of it but all she manages to blurt out is, “Welcome back.”

            Jester snorts off to their left and butts in, “Beau missed you Yasha, like sooooo much but she won’t say it because she’s a big chicken.”

            “Shut up, Jes.” Beau can feel her face flush and she aims a kick at Jester’s shins but the cleric jumps out of the way just in time. Equal parts embarrassment and exhilaration is making Beau’s ears ring and she only barely catches Yasha’s response.

            “Well. I missed Beau too,” her voice is soft and Beau’s head spins in a far preferable way to how it’s been the last almost-month, “All of you, really.” But Yasha’s fingers are still against Beau’s side and she squeezes gently. Beau looks up and finds Yasha’s soft gaze waiting. _Gods, she’s amazing._

“Aw, Yasha!” Jester bounces up on her toes to smack a kiss on Yasha’s cheek, “We all missed you too! Not just Beau. But she missed you like sooooo much.”

            “Careful, Jester,” Caleb calls out, closer than Beau is expecting, “You don’t want to start a real fight with Beauregard. Especially not over a woman.”

            Beau doesn’t turn away from Yasha, just takes her hand from where it’s still hanging in the front of Yasha’s armor and waves a middle finger in his direction, “Fuck off, Widogast.” But she hears him chuckle.

            “That finger is probably best put to use elsewhere,” Fjord chimes in, immediately echoed by a voice in her head that sounds too much like Molly. More blood floods her cheeks and she drops her forehead to Yasha’s chest.

            “Fjord!”

            There’s a rumble in Yasha’s chest, laughter, and howling from the other members of the party. Beau even giggles in spite of herself.

            “Let’s keep moving?” Yasha hums, still not looking away from Beau. The monk nods, dumbfounded, pulling herself away from Yasha but then Yasha takes her hand and Beau can’t even remember walking to the cart, much less hear any of the conversation.

 

            That night, they camp in the middle of a field, all snuggled up inside Caleb’s bubble. Yasha sets up her bedroll next to Beau’s. For the first night in weeks, Beau falls asleep easily, Yasha’s muscled arm slung low across her waist.


End file.
